Qi Heng had been born into heaven’s favor — his family background was illustrious, his appearance outstanding, his manner toward others warm and generous, his temperament gentle and amiable. Without needing his father’s scolding or prompting, he had on his own initiative developed a genuine love of learning. He possessed all the fine qualities of Baoyu from Dream of the Red Chamber, yet was several degrees more ambitious and steady. After eating lunch at the Hall of Longevity, he spoke with gracious ease and elegant refinement, and even Nanny Fang — who had kept her widowhood for twenty-eight years — began to soften noticeably in expression.

About twenty-some years ago, the Qi Ducal House had been riding high on fortune: the Duke’s two sons had each married daughters of the most prominent and illustrious families of the day. The eldest son married the eldest daughter of the Grand Marshal of the Imperial Army, who also held the title of National Uncle; the second son married the only daughter of the Marquis of Xiangyang. This brought the Qi Ducal House — previously ranking at the tail end of the noble aristocracy — to sudden, blazing prominence overnight. But such fortune came at a price. Both daughters-in-law arrived with formidable backgrounds, imposing airs, and naturally formidable tempers, leaving their mother-in-law thoroughly bewildered and managing their husbands with an iron grip, permitting not a drop to slip through.

The eldest daughter-in-law employed her father’s iron-fisted military tactics to sweep the husband’s household clear of every warbler and swallow, pulling up flowers and uprooting weeds, until the couple had only one child between them — and a sickly one at that. Though her family’s power had since greatly diminished, Qi’s eldest son was himself already past his prime, unable to produce a second heir no matter how he tried. Then, a few years later, the second daughter-in-law arrived and proceeded in the same fashion, keeping Qi Heng’s father on an equally tight leash. After giving birth to Qi Heng, the Princess of Pingning found herself unable to have more children — and incredibly, she refused to allow her husband to seek a second front, leaving him to live out his days miserably with only the Princess and an aging, childless concubine for company.

Apart from a paternal cousin who lay permanently confined to his room with illness, Qi Heng had not a single brother or sister. He occasionally played with his maternal cousins, but the Princess of Pingning maintained strict vigilance against every girl who might conceivably become her future daughter-in-law, so even his female cousins rarely came to visit. After entering the Sheng household school, and under the Princess’s constant daily drilling on the strict boundaries between men and women, Qi Heng maintained a firm, resolute distance from the exquisitely beautiful Molan and Rulan. Only toward Minglan did the Princess not have much to say.

Therefore, as far as Qi Heng was concerned, Minglan was the only little sister he had ever encountered in his life — and a pretty, sweet-natured one at that, like a little plump squirrel. He liked her at first sight. Yet little Minglan had a habit of assuming a very solemn little face with her little bun hairstyle, which only made Qi Heng all the more irresistibly inclined to tease her. Truthfully, Qi Heng was genuinely a fine person. The day after enjoying Minglan’s fish soup and fish fillet, he brought her a whole box of recipe books he had unearthed from the depths of his family’s trunks — recipes for soups, medicinal broths, and noodle dishes. Seeing her working on needlework and embroidery, he brought the next day several volumes of the latest fashionable embroidery patterns from the capital, along with a pouch stuffed full with over a dozen colors of beaded thread.

Minglan was unable to resist such temptations, and once she had accepted gifts, she tended to become very eager and endearing in return. She brought Qi Heng a stool and poured his tea; when she saw him set his books down, she fussed over him warmly — “Brother Yuanruo, you’ve worked so hard at your studies, Brother Yuanruo please rest awhile” — bustling about like a busy little round squirrel, and her conversation with Qi Heng became lively and witty.

“Sixth Sister, you are bullying the weak,” Qi Heng said teasingly, watching Minglan tease the goldfish with a strand of water grass.

Minglan replied with perfect innocence: “Not at all. Before I challenged it, I had no idea it was weaker than me.”

“Then why have you stopped?” Qi Heng asked, seeing her toss the water grass aside.

Minglan replied most sincerely: “Because I’m taking Brother Yuanruo’s advice and no longer bullying the weak.” — She felt she was being truly obsequious.

Qi Heng was very pleased and rubbed her head again, laughing with a deep, resonant joy; his refined brows spread wide, his face luminous and brilliant, like a figure from one of Gu Kaizhi’s elegant Wei-Jin dynasty paintings. The little maids of the Hall of Longevity fell into collective enchantment.

By the fourth day, he finally stopped coming for lunch. Minglan once again picked up the water grass and calmly walked over to the goldfish basin.

“…Young Miss.” Xiaotao came in from outside, holding a delicate little straw hamper, her face thoroughly bewildered. “Young Master Qi had this sent over for you. He says this grass is the best kind for teasing fish.”

Minglan froze in place, feeling utterly helpless. Very well — perhaps she had been reading too much into things.

Ever since Molan moved into the Weirui Pavilion, Wang Shi found herself with two headaches for every one. Though on the surface the monthly allowances for the young ladies were identical, privately Wang Shi naturally gave her own daughter a little more; and even when everyone received a new set of clothes each season, her own daughter would of course receive an extra couple of pieces. Even Grandmother Sheng said nothing about it, so Wang Shi was happy to be none the wiser. But Molan, for all her outward delicacy, had eyes sharp as needles — she would cry half the day over even the smallest thing, such as Rulan receiving a new hairpin, weeping until her eyes were swollen red and her expression utterly wretched, then walking in and out so that everyone in the household could see. Wang Shi could have ground her teeth in fury and longed to slap her.

Nanny Liu Kun tried to soothe her: “There’s no need to take it to heart. Even if she runs to the master crying, what of it? Each young lady has her own backer — the master knows this. Our young miss has hers, the fourth young miss has Lin Yiniang, and the sixth young miss has Grandmother. Everyone chants their own sutras. If you truly want the advantage, reclaim Lin Yiniang’s property and bring the sixth young miss out of the Hall of Longevity into the Weirui Pavilion, and have you yourself properly raise these young ladies. Then if there is any favoritism, the master would have grounds to object.”

Wang Shi said in vexation: “You think I don’t understand all this? I’m not afraid to speak plainly to the master either. But that wretched girl walks around with that funeral face every single day — heaven only knows what people outside are saying about me.”

Nanny Liu Kun smiled: “She’s just a child with no real scheme — she thinks this is how she can get leverage over you. You might as well go to the master first and say: you haven’t hit her, haven’t scolded her, fed her well and treated her well, yet the fourth young miss still weeps all day long; you’re afraid you aren’t caring for her properly, and perhaps it’s better to let the fourth young miss return. You haven’t laid a single finger on her — what could she possibly say? And if she really dares to accuse you of favoritism, then she herself has handed you ammunition.”

Wang Shi hesitated: “…And if she says nothing and just cries?”

Nanny Liu Kun shook her head: “Then you say: you’ve done your utmost to care for her, and received not a word of thanks, while she spends every day weeping and half-dead, making it look exactly as if you’re a stepmother mistreating her daughter. That reputation you cannot afford to bear — so you ask the master: what is to be done?”

Wang Shi felt the approach, though a bit blunt, was at least proper on all counts of propriety, and acted accordingly. Sheng Hong heard her out and was indeed displeased. He went to find Molan and had her kneel before delivering his lecture. From outside the room, the maids could only hear Molan sobbing continuously, and Sheng Hong’s furious reprimands — something about “…these despicable tricks of weeping, making scenes, and threatening to hang oneself”… “the proper bearing of a young lady from a respectable family”… “reclaim… property”… and so forth — then he stormed out with a sweep of his sleeves.

It was the first time in Molan’s life her father had berated her. She wept for a full night. The next morning she went obediently to pay her respects to Wang Shi, serving tea and water and performing every duty of a filial daughter. Whatever Wang Shi said, Molan listened; even when reprimanded, she bowed her head dutifully and bore it in silence. Seeing her so put-upon in her submissiveness, Wang Shi found it difficult to push too hard, and so assumed the role of a stepmother in kind, performing her part as well.

Ancient society was patriarchal, with clear divisions of labor between the sexes: men worked and earned; women managed the household. Once children were born, each parent handled their own half. Sheng Hong was responsible for his sons’ studies and official advancement to provide for the family; Wang Shi was responsible for overseeing the conduct of the children, distributing monthly allowances, managing household affairs and governing the servants, as well as regularly arranging clothes and jewelry for the daughters, and socializing with the wives and ladies of other official families in Dengzhou. Occasionally she would bring one of the young ladies out to meet guests — though Grandmother Sheng oddly enough, two times out of three, did not allow Minglan to go.

After a few days of playing stepmother, Wang Shi suddenly had a moment of clarity, and sighed with a long breath: “The master has truly calculated this all out well — what a loving father’s heart indeed!”

Nanny Liu Kun, who was sitting on the heated kang reviewing accounts with Wang Shi, quickly asked why. Wang Shi gave a wry smile: “The master has always harbored the intention of officially registering those two girls under my name. Minglan is all right — Grandmother has claimed her, and when she grows up and needs a match, I likely won’t have to do much. Judging from that episode with young Master Qi, the girl at least knows her own worth and doesn’t go shamelessly ingratiating herself or competing with her elder legitimate sister. Registering her under my name is not a problem — at worst, I’ll add some dowry for her later. But the fourth girl…” she snorted. “The master knows all too well the years of grievance between me and Lin Yiniang. Children are another matter, and he couldn’t very well force me to take in the fourth girl outright — so he devised this scheme of presenting a fait accompli: first bring her over, have me raise her, teach her, and bring her out to meet guests; then when Molan grows up and needs a marriage match, he’ll ask me to formally register her under my name, and by then I’ll have no way to refuse.”

Nanny Liu Kun heard her out and thought privately that she had grown quite perceptive. She smiled and said: “You make sense, and I think the same. But there’s no need to worry too much. Registering a concubine-born daughter under the first wife’s name is common practice in any great household. It’s the kind of thing recorded in genealogies — it’s only for deceiving the ancestors at the front and descendants at the back. Who among living people doesn’t know whose child is whose? Does anyone on the outside really come to seek a match believing Molan was born of the first wife? It just looks a bit more presentable and can attract a better marriage — but even so, can it ever be more presentable than a legitimate daughter born of the first wife herself?”

Wang Shi sighed: “What you say, I know full well. It’s just that my heart is uneasy.” She thought of Lin Yiniang’s days of favor, and felt wave after wave of pent-up fury. She kept thinking of some way to ensure that wretched woman’s daughter would marry miserably — yet she dared not act rashly, for one careless move could end up harming her own daughter, and that would not be worth it.

Nanny Liu Kun saw Wang Shi’s expression and knew she was spiraling inward again, and tried to counsel her: “Try to let your heart open a little. When the young misses marry one day, they’ll be counting on the family’s reputation as their backing. So long as Changbai grows up to great distinction, they’ll all have to look to your expression for guidance. In my view, stop wasting your energy on the concubine girls and their Yiniangss. Keep your eye firmly on Changbai’s studies — that’s what truly matters. The Autumn Provincial Examination is nearly upon us, and all our hopes rest on the eldest young master passing in one attempt. Then your dignity for the rest of your life will be secure!”

Wang Shi thought of her eldest son and immediately revived in spirit, clapping the embroidered stool: “Exactly right! That wretched woman brags all day long about how clever Feng Ge’er is — he sat the exam twice before barely passing the prefectural examination, and the master was already dotting on him as if he were something extraordinary. Yet now he’s failed the qualifying examination this time — let’s see if she has anything more to boast about! You’ve reminded me well — thank goodness Mother sent you here!”

A year of study had gone by, and the provincial examination was gradually drawing near. Master Zhuang tightened his instruction with great intensity, and had little Changdong — who was still memorizing the Analects — shifted to half-day lessons, keeping only the older two boys for intensive advanced preparation. Changfeng, though not yet a certified scholar, was considered half a candidate and was pulled into the pre-examination cram session alongside them. Wang Shi sent in fish soup, chicken broth, and pig brain soup for supplementation every day. Sheng Hong, his heart itching to go and ask a few questions, forced himself to maintain a facade of calm by picking up a copy of the Tao Te Ching as a prop.

Minglan, who had absolutely no political sensibility, was nestled with Grandmother by the window kang eating freshly steamed red bean and yam rice cakes — a new southern-style snack Minglan had invented. The two of them, grandmother and granddaughter, were eating with great contentment. Minglan said indistinctly through a mouthful: “…Mm, truly delicious… There’s another steamer kept for Grandmother’s evening snack later — eating it warm is good for the stomach.”

Grandmother Sheng wiped her hands on a damp cloth and said: “Send some to Changbai as well. The poor child has been working so hard — he does this for the glory of the Sheng family, and all of you will benefit in the end.” She thought for a moment and continued: “Also, I thought the book bag you made for Changdong was very good. For this examination your brother is sitting, put aside your other needlework for now and make him something practical — your brother will appreciate the thought.”

Minglan nodded. Back then, seeing that little Changdong’s pageboy was not particularly capable and the child had to carry many things himself, she had made him a double-strap backpack in layered compartments, with embroidered shoulder straps in brocade patterns, decorating it with images of blue sky, white clouds, and green grass, with a draw-string cord made of Grandmother Sheng’s leftover incense beads of fragrant sandalwood threaded at the opening. It was both light and attractive, and little Changdong adored it.

After her handicraft received this recognition, Minglan felt greatly encouraged. When Changbai had sent her a pair of goldfish on one occasion, she made a stone-blue embroidered fan case with a pine, bamboo, and plum design to send back. Changbai was delighted and sent back in return a bamboo pencil case braided with flowers, a local specialty from Tongcheng.

Minglan felt that her early choice of needlework as her direction of study had been brilliantly wise. Girls had a choice in what they studied; boys had only one goal to strive toward — the imperial examinations.

The imperial examinations had many advantages. Pass well and one could become an official; pass modestly and one could become a lower functionary; even failing left one fit to be a village private school teacher. Most importantly, once one held a scholarly title, one was exempt from taxes — even a mere licentiate need not kneel before the county magistrate. The examinations were not only of monumental significance to common men seeking to change their fate, but were equally important for the sons of officials like Sheng Changbai. Ancient official positions were not hereditary. Their father Sheng Hong might be an official, but his sons still had to rely on their own abilities and pass the imperial examinations to obtain official posts — otherwise the Sheng family’s prosperity would last only one or two generations.

All of this had been said by Grandmother Sheng herself, and spoken with a natural gravity of tone. Minglan stole a few sideways glances at her. For a long time, Minglan had noticed that her grandmother was a peculiar person. Though born into a noble household of hereditary rank, she had a thorough disdain for the type of young lords who coasted on inherited privilege — and toward those who earned their positions through the imperial examinations by their own merits, she held an inexplicable warmth and regard. It was presumably in this very spirit that she had once been drawn to the handsome and talented young top-ranked metropolitan examination graduate — Sheng Hong’s father.

While mentally piecing together past events, Minglan absent-mindedly reached out to take another rice cake — only to find the spot empty. Grandmother Sheng had already had Nanny Fang pack the pastries away into the warming box and send them off. Grandmother Sheng turned and saw Minglan’s little white pudgy hand suspended in mid-air, knitted her brows, and admonished earnestly: “Little Minglan, listen to Grandmother — you are growing up day by day, and cannot eat like you did as a small child. If you grow too plump, your clothes won’t look well on you.”

Minglan sheepishly withdrew her small chubby paw. But I’m only concealing my beauty and keeping a low profile!

Author’s Note:

Of all the characters in Dream of the Red Chamber, apart from Sister Daiyu, I only like one and a half girls: Ping’er, Yuanyang, Xiao Hong, plus Zijuan counts as half — ranked according to personal preference.

They say Red Chamber is “ten thousand beauties weeping as one” — yet even the most ill-fated young misses at least lived through a period of being waited upon in comfort. Only those maids had their glory never guaranteed, yet when the household fell, they could not escape.

Working backwards: I hold Zijuan in very high regard, but in essence she lived comfortably in the Xiaoxiang Pavilion. Her mistress Daiyu treated her like a true sister; as the head maid, she wielded great authority and was highly respected. Cao Xueqin described her with the character “Hui” — wisdom and perception. Her care for Daiyu was entirely genuine, her counsel always positive and nurturing, like an elder sister. Especially at Daiyu’s death, she demonstrated absolute fidelity to the end — a quality rare in the entire Grand View Garden among both misses and maids. Yet why does she rank last? Because in essence, her loyalty and sincerity were rewarded in kind — given how genuinely Daiyu treated her, her devotion was a natural response. And practically speaking, her fate was tied to Daiyu’s: if Daiyu had married well, Zijuan would have fared well; if not, she suffered too. Her goodness was, at its root, going with the flow.

Next: Xiao Hong. Many may not particularly like her, and I don’t adore her either — but I greatly admire her.

In that great household, the fate of a girl born into service was essentially one of two paths: to become a concubine, or to be given in marriage. Without Chunying’s idealism, she naturally aimed to find herself a good match — perfectly understandable in that era.

At first she set her sights on Baoyu, but after barely managing to serve him one cup of tea by some clever maneuvering, she received a torrent of abuse for it. Once she had finished crying, she immediately and clear-headedly recognized the brutal competition ahead: even if she fought until her head was bloodied, she might never win a place near Baoyu. The tears on her face barely dried before she overheard an old maidservant mention Jia Yun — “Fifth Aunt’s son” — and recalled their past encounter; her heart stirred at once, and the little handkerchief incident was set in motion.

From seeking closeness with Baoyu to turning her affections toward Jia Yun — the entire adjustment of her life goal and marriage prospect took Xiao Hong less than half a day. When I first read this, I felt an indescribable sense of exhilaration.

As if to say: who exactly do you think Jia Baoyu is? He’s nothing more than someone everyone has been pampering. As for true capability — I’d say Jia Yun is among the standouts in the entire novel. He’s ambitious, sharp and capable, filial to his mother, and even the famously chivalrous Ni Er treated him as a brother. Most importantly, Xiao Hong’s judgment proved sound: Jia Yun later proved himself a person who repays kindness and honors feeling.

According to Zhi Yanzhai’s commentaries and Cao Xueqin’s story arc, Xiao Hong eventually married Jia Yun successfully, transforming from a simple maid into a proper wife, and after the household’s downfall, helped Wang Xifeng and Baoyu in the prison.

In all of Red Chamber, Xiao Hong is the only woman who remained clear-eyed and actively sought her own way out — some women were clear-eyed but faded into resignation. Her effort gives me a sense of surging, upward vitality. What matters most is that her upward striving was wholesome — she harmed no one, calculated against no one. She wore her hopes on her face, earned Xifeng’s appreciation, and left promptly, avoiding the later purge by Lady Wang. Under Xifeng’s employ she gained considerable management ability, and maintained genuine gratitude toward the exacting Xifeng throughout.

Frankly speaking: Qingwen once mocked Xiao Hong for “flying off to a better branch” — yet didn’t Qingwen herself keep Baoyu firmly in her sights, openly and covertly? She played at being above it all while loving Baoyu to distraction — high aspirations, frail destiny. I admire Xiao Hong’s pragmatism far more.

In that era, to live — and live well — without harming others. That is what truly matters.

Yuanyang needs no elaboration. Her courageous defiance of overwhelming power is one of the most luminous passages in Dream of the Red Chamber. She knew better than anyone that the old matriarch would not live forever, and once she died, what would become of Yuanyang? She was not reckless or impulsive — yet in that moment, she staked her entire future and everything she had on her own dignity. Could I have done the same? Could any of us?

And finally, Ping’er — my favorite of them all.

She was Wang Xifeng’s personal maid brought from her family home, not a servant born within the Jia household — so she had no natural support system among the lower ranks. Xiao Hong at least had a mother in management to look out for her. Ping’er was truly on her own. “Given Jia Lian’s vulgarity and Xifeng’s overbearing authority, she navigated between them” — how extraordinarily difficult. Poor thing, so young, so lovely, yet not even ranked as a proper concubine — only a secondary chamber-maid. Every time someone called her “Miss Ping’er,” my heart ached. When Jia Lian and Xifeng quarreled, husband and wife refrained from attacking each other and jointly vented their fury on Ping’er instead — and after being beaten, she had to carry on serving both of them as if nothing had happened.

Yet beneath all this sorrowful fate, I see a noble and gentle soul. She did not wallow in self-pity over her own misfortune, nor did she scheme against others. Instead she strove to be kind wherever she could — quietly covering for servants’ mistakes before Xifeng, sparing the thieving maid Zui’er, settling disputes in the kitchen, and even risking Xifeng’s wrath to secretly help the tormented You Erjie.

Toward the flirtatious Jia Lian, she fulfilled her duties with care and consideration; toward the strict and formidable Xifeng, she was utterly loyal — offering counsel, comfort, and genuine concern. When Xifeng had a miscarriage, it was Ping’er who was most tenderly devoted.

If Zijuan represents sincerity in favorable circumstances, Xiao Hong sincerity born of instinct, and Yuanyang sincerity forged in defiance — then Ping’er is sincerity maintained through thorns and hardship.

I have read many popular novels featuring pitiable heroines who, born into wretched circumstances, end up seducing the male lead and scheming against others, always with the refrain: “I had no choice — I was just fighting to survive.” I would ask just one question: how do they compare to Ping’er?

(Personal views only — disagreement welcome, please don’t press further.)